


During The Weather

by napandasandwich



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, The Weather (Welcome to Night Vale), risk of getting caught
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/napandasandwich/pseuds/napandasandwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I always wonder what Cecil does during the weather…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	During The Weather

“… And now! The _Weather_.” Cecil says, and bumps the broadcast to the recording. 4 minutes and 29 seconds, that’ll be enough, he thinks, squirming in his chair. It’ll have to be enough. It probably will be.

There’s no one in the building besides Koschek and Station Management, with several doors between him and either of them. Still, he always feels guilty for this, even as his hand makes its way through his fly where he’s been tight and heavy ever since the beginning of the broadcast. God, warm hands on his sides and the memory of a mouth. On the one night they're spent together so far, Carlos had been a perfect gentleman and he’d _smiled_ _and smiled_. (Cecil's skin tingles delightfully just remembering it.) Behind Carlos’ gentle laugh and gasps Cecil had thought he’d seen a hit of frustration. _Restraint_.

Sinking lower in the chair, Cecil fixes his eyes on the mic and tries his best not to moan.

Oh he was hoping Carlos, sweet Carlos, was as delighted as he was with the night they’d spent together, _but_ Cecil was also hoping that his beautiful Carlos wouldn’t always be _gentle_. The ghost of teeth nipped at his ear and Cecil had to bite his spare hand. There were a lot of things Cecil found irresistible about Night Vale's lone non-native scientist, and his looks, although perfect, were rather secondary to the many abstractly attractive qualities, like his passion for scientific inquiry and so-far durable sanity. Of course, that didn't mean Cecil was _immune_ to the effect of the thought of those broad, sure hands tightening on his on the his own, clamping down on his wrists, pinning them to this very chair…

There are certain things you can’t avoid when jerking off in a recording booth while you’re on air. One is the deadline; you absolutely _have_ to be collected by the time you go back on, and that absolute necessity gives the act a certain urgency, which Cecil doesn’t find unpleasant. Otherwise he wouldn’t do this, sink down in his booth and grab the hand cream, thinking about a big warm body and _skin_ and _teeth._  

Another thing is the _sounds_ , which are absolutely filthy. The faintly wet, sloppy drag of his tightening fist. The sound of his breath, which might be passed off as panicked, he thinks, struggling to pull in enough oxygen as his back arches, his mind offering a kaleidoscope of images and sensory input that all boils down to his skin feeling too tight, a feeling rising with the electricity in his spine, pooling low and hot and urgent. Cecil would be lying to himself if the thought of hearing himself like this _on air_ doesn’t just about do the job for him right there.

The third thing you can’t avoid is admitting to yourself that you are now _officially_ an exhibitionist. But he's known that for _ages_ already, Cecil thinks, head tossed back and eyes squeezed shut against the sweat rising on his brow. He imagines Carlos watching from the other side of the booth’s glass wall, watching him here, putting a very special live performance.

Cecil would be just mortified, possibly to the point of actual death, if he were ever actually caught doing this on air. He knows this, and knows it’s not really the thought of being caught that makes this exciting. It’s just that sometimes he gets worked up, and the break for the weather is a rest for him during the show. Usually he’d use it to grab a coffee or look over the rest of the scripts or escape from an attack by Station Management or, once, rescue one of Koschek’s kittens from the recently installed, and immediately uninstalled, men’s bathroom hot air hand dryer.

 The men’s bathroom is the only other place in the building where Cecil has done this, only late at night and only before Koschek’s arrival. He’s imagined Carlos catching him there though, them crowding into a stall, bumping against each other and the thin walls, kissing, hot mouths and if he’s lucky, sinking his hand into that perfect hair while Carlos is on his knees. Or if he’d _really_ lucky, Carlos behind him, pressing his chest against the stall wall, humidity and sweat between them and feeling him spill loose, the pressed edges fraying and a hard chest against his back, fingernails digging into Cecil’s hips… 

Cecil almost moans aloud, _almost_ , so close to the cusp of the tension in his body, as tight as the muscles of his thighs. _Almost._

With effort, he looks over at the clock. 1 minute 13 seconds left. Carlos coming into the booth after a broadcast, late at night, the familiar station around them and just the comforting dark corners and blinking equipment lights, nothing to stop him from being spread out over the soundboard's switches and dials, nothing preventing his complete disintegration in the hands of a certain scientist. Cecil wants to be pinned at the hips with a hand fisted tight in his hair, pulling his head back far enough for hot breath to hit his ear, “Cecil…”

He comes. He says Carlos’ name when he does. Actually he croaks it out rather breathlessly (and thankfully quietly) as fine tremors shake his entire body, like fireworks, like lightning, a whip that cracks though him and leaves him panting, sprawled in a chair and wondering vaguely when the feeling will return to his legs.

27 seconds. He scrambles, tucking away the mess and even disinfecting his hands before taking a gulp of water, then a deep, calming breath. He feels better, even good. Definitely more relaxed. 9 seconds.

Cecil Palmer clears his throat and presses a button. “Welcome back, listeners…”

**Author's Note:**

> I almost called this "Having Fun" after the Tom Milsom song played during Episode 34's The Weather, but it seemed too cheesy.


End file.
